Roar!
With a deafening, thunderous dragon cry, Lansseax shifted into her true form in the blink of an eye. She swept her talons down, clutching Nibula and Horuf in her grasp, before taking to the sky in the direction Mohg had pointed.
That single roar acted like a magnet, instantly seizing the attention of every living creature in the vicinity—most notably the Ancestral Followers below and the residents of the Nox city above.
As a supreme masterpiece and a hegemon of the Era of the Crucible, the presence of an Ancient Dragon was no stranger to the Nox, who had dwelt in the subterranean world since antiquity. They even possessed ancient records detailing such magnificent creatures.
For the Ancestral Followers, however, the sight held an even more profound significance. Their culture revolved around the worship of horns, and they held a deep, instinctive reverence for the Ancient Dragons.
As Lansseax's silhouette swept over them, Mohg watched as several Ancestral Followers fell to their knees in mid-prayer, prostrating themselves on the ground.
Mohg had no intention of making contact with these people, let alone bringing them under his banner. The "Horn Culture" they practiced was one of harmony with nature—unassuming and non-combative. It was the diametric opposite of the horn-worship practiced by the Hornsent or his own Blood Dynasty.
While the Hornsent and the Blood Dynasty actively sought to seize and harness spiritual power, the Ancestral Followers chose to wait, letting that power settle and grow within their bodies naturally. It was a philosophy of "letting nature take its course."
The most they ever did to influence this power was through ancestral songs or ritualistic hunting and consumption. They were the gentler, more passive side of a primal, wild culture.
Changing their worldview and attitude would require an exhausting amount of effort for very little return. At most, he would gain knowledge regarding Spiritflame arrows or niche uses of spiritual energy. Even then, those powers were tied to the Ancestor Spirit; to use them, one would likely have to convert to their faith.
Therefore, from Mohg's perspective, the only thing of true value among the Ancestral Followers was the Ancestor Spirit itself.
To absorb the Ancestor Spirit's essence and offer its blood as a sacrifice to the Formless Mother—that was Mohg's true ambition.
With one last glance at the kneeling tribesmen, Mohg unfurled the black wings upon his back and took flight toward his chosen site.
Compared to the Ancestral Followers, the reaction from the Eternal City was far more volatile.
They couldn't help it. Having such a powerful neighbor move in was bad enough, but the fact that this neighbor could fly meant they were effectively sitting ducks if an attack ever came.
The Mimic Tears could technically shapeshift into creatures capable of aerial combat, but expecting them to go toe-to-toe with an Ancient Dragon was wishful thinking.
As for the Dragonkin Soldier in their possession, it was a pale, flawed imitation. The one in Nokstella could at least glide or fly for short bursts; the one here couldn't leave the ground at all. It couldn't even wield Ice Lightning properly. Furthermore, having been away from the fires of war for so long, much of their siege machinery had been left to rot. Whether those weapons were even functional was a massive question mark.
Consequently, the residents of Nokron were on a knife's edge regarding Lansseax's arrival.
However, seeing that the dragon showed no immediate signs of hostility, they refrained from any provocative movements, merely positioning several Silver Tears in their ranged forms to keep a vigilant watch.
Whoosh.
Mohg beat his wings, slowly descending onto the ruins at the edge of the forest.
At this point in time, the area hadn't been choked by blood and crimson rot as it was in his memory. It was still a vibrant, common forest landscape. Rare herbs peeked out from the soil, and a shimmering, azure lake sat nearby.
Mohg even spotted several horned beasts roaming the woods—horned squirrels, horned boars, and even horned eagles.
The forest was vast, and it would take time to fully scout the interior. Mohg didn't linger, instead heading straight for the ruins above. He could sense the auras of Lansseax and the others waiting there.
Soon, Mohg reached the highest point of the ruins—the very spot where, in the game, players would face the Lord of Blood and where Miquella lay in his eternal slumber.
Just the thought of Miquella, that Empyrean, made Mohg's skin crawl.
"So, this is the place you've chosen?" Lansseax asked, surveying their surroundings.
"Indeed. What do you think?"
"The location is excellent," she admitted, "but are you certain you want to build a dynasty here? This place used to be a tomb."
"Isn't that perfect?" Mohg replied. "To build a new beginning atop the ruins of a dead horn-worshipping civilization... it has a poetic ring to it. It's also the ideal environment for us to research Horn Culture and explore the depths of spiritual power."
Lansseax considered his words for a moment before nodding. "Fine. You make a fair point. What's the next step?"
"First, we construct a massive blood pool. Then, we begin moving the bulk of our operations from Limgrave to this location."
Mohg looked at Lansseax, a specific glint in his eye. Lansseax suddenly felt a wave of cold dread wash over her.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked warily.
"Well, while I can draw blood directly from the 'Mother,' I suspect the blood of an Ancient Dragon would be even better. You're so large, surely you wouldn't mind sparing a little for me?"
"In your dreams!"
Lansseax's scales bristled instantly. A faint crackle of red gravel stone lightning began to swirl around her body.
Mohg let out a dry cough. "It was just a joke. Don't be so sensitive."
"You didn't look like you were joking to me!" Lansseax snapped, baring her teeth slightly.
Mohg didn't argue. He turned his attention to Nibula and Horuf.
"You two, go scout the interior. Map out the different sectors and report back to me with a layout."
"Understood," they replied in unison.
With his orders given, Mohg turned his gaze toward the high platform in the center. He surmised that it had once held some sort of sacrificial altar, but it was currently empty.
As for what he planned to turn this place into... he intended to remodel it directly into his Throne Room.
Leave a spot for Miquella?
If he was going to leave a spot for anyone, it certainly wouldn't be here. Besides, he had absolutely no desire to see that "dainty brat" ever again.
In fact, he was fairly certain his brother from another mother—Radahn—shared that exact sentiment.
"As for the blood pool... we'll build it in the lake below," Mohg murmured, walking to the edge of the lift and looking down at the water.
The area was significantly larger than he remembered from the game, offering far more room for expansion and development. In the future, he could transform this into a habitable domain, though he made a mental note to preserve a portion of the forest for resources and emergencies.
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Elden Ring: As the Consort, I Reject Miquella (459 Chapters – Full)
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